


Meow

by touchstoneaf



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Comics 1998), Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: CUDDLY DEMON, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, F/M, I love underwear fetish Spike, I will die on that hill, and i don't care, don't@me, feral!Spike, it's a predator thing, this is just plain schmoop, underwear fetish Spike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25171291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/touchstoneaf/pseuds/touchstoneaf
Summary: There must have been a spell.  Probably.  Not that she really cared, when the proceeds were so...Well.Sensuous.And fun.Certain demons could be very playful when they were feeling a certain kind of way.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	Meow

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** This is definitely the fluffiest thing I have ever posted or written in this fandom. EVER. It gave me a toothache, it's so smooshy. There goes my image.
> 
> This one also sort of loosely fits into the "Souls In Bondage" series, if you want it to. It doesn't have to, though. It therefore can be considered to include something like a vague spoiler in its setting, if you want it to. Or not. That's up to you. (It is also absolutely and completely unnecessary to have read even one jot of that series to appreciate this one-shot.)
> 
> Because it kind of fits into that series and is thus vaguely spoilery (though not really a lot), I held off sharing it with the weird idea that I'd not post it till after I had Pt. 4 of that series up... but meh. I want fluff in our lives. I'm told the more fluff the better, so I've stopped holding off on these bits of fluffery. There's one more of these glimpses I'll be posting soon as well.
> 
>  **Formatting Note:** For anyone who’s never read me before, I do a weird thing. Or, at least, it’s weird nowadays. I use an old fanfic convention from long ago because I'm ancient, and we didn't used to have access to italics in the days when I used to fic. Can't break the habit now, I'm just too old and it looks weird for me without it. Character thoughts look like this in my stories: /Blah blah blah./
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** All characters property of Joss Whedon, damn his brilliant, confusing soul. And Mutant Enemy. And apparently some people at, I guess, Fox, now? (Who can even keep track anymore. I’m still half-stuck in the WB/CW/UPN confusion.) All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners, yadda and blah. (OCs if any are MINE, ALL MINE!) I am in no way associated with Joss, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox, or any other media franchise. I intend no infringement. I intend sexy shenanigans and JUSTICE FOR SPUFFY!
> 
>  **Pairing(s):** SPUFFY, DUH! (This one’s established-relationship style.)
> 
>  **Rating:** PG-13 yet again. At this point we seem to be entering into a pattern where the sagas are no kids allowed, and the one-shots are teen-friendly, or something?
> 
>  **Author’s Note / Dedication:** This one’s for a friend over at EF who was randomly chatting with me in a comment thread (I think it had something to do with Spike’s underwear fetish, or laundry sniffing, I don’t remember). That person said something to the effect that at any moment Spike was just gonna start rolling around in Buffy’s laundry like a puppy… and I was like, “Aaaand, plot-bunny!” So, yeah. Our fellow Spuffians say intriguing things like that and I have no cope.

She didn’t realize that it was a spell until he didn’t talk. There was something uber-suspicious about a non-talky Spike, after all. 

The only time Spike ever shut up was when he was using his mouth to good effect on certain parts of her.

Actually, cancel that. Even then, there was often poetry; or at least, exceedingly eloquent noises.

Not that he wasn’t making sounds right now. They were just… very demon-y. Almost animalistic. Little growls and rumbles and snarls, and the noise she had long since classified as a purr, even though it wasn’t, really, so much as a slowed-down version of the growl, low and contained deep in his chest, and mostly just a noise of contentment; the kind of sound a big cat made when they were happy, because they couldn’t purr, really. But then, housecats couldn’t roar, either. So, you know… call it purring, since it was the closest thing vampires (and lions and leopards and stuff) could get to it.

Especially when they were buried up to their eyebrows in a pile of their mate’s laundry, rolling around all crazy, like some kind of over-sensitized, super-happy feline.

At first she hadn’t even seen him when she’d come in. “Spike?” she’d called as she’d opened the door, and pulled the key out of the (very sticky) lock of their apartment in San Fran. And felt a little thrill of worry when she’d taken in the state of the main space. Which was, okay, trashed. Like someone had gone into a rage and broken damn near everything, or possibly rifled through the place looking for something, or…

Cautiously shoving the door shut, she’d pocketed the extricated key and tugged out a stake, stalked carefully further into the room, eyes and ears on the alert for any invaders. 

But there had been nothing. No one. No smells, no sounds; nothing to indicate she was anything but alone. No blood spots, no rustling, no…

Only the very familiar vibe of one very specific vampire. 

Except, the vibe of that one very specific vampire was set to ‘high’, which was… interesting.

Abandoning the search of the tossed kitchen and wrecked living room, Buffy had paused at the doorway to the bedroom; brought to a complete stop to stare at the tiny walkway between bed and closet. Her mouth had fallen open of its own accord at the sight that met her eyes.

This room, too, looked like a tornado had hit it; but a very specific tornado. The doors hung ajar on the wardrobe. Everything inside had been ripped down, hangers askew. Every drawer in the dresser had been torn open. A couple were on the floor between the bed and the bathroom door, half-stacked on each other in a crazy, tilted Jenga. The dirty clothes hamper was on its side and empty, all of Spike’s clothes still inside or cast away to hang off the nearest nightstand, or from the edge of the bed, or wherever. A trail of _her_ clothes, though, led from the mouth of the hamper to a vast pile of garments stacked between bed and closet. 

Spike was nowhere in evidence at first. “God, what happened in here?” Buffy asked no one in particular.

And jumped when her vampire’s face appeared, popping up from the center of the pile like a jack-in-the-box.

He was upside-down, peering at her over the edge of his makeshift nest of garments from under his scarred eyebrow. He had a pair of her underwear on his head, a blouse hanging over one shoulder, a camisole in one hand. The underwear were canted jauntily over one eye, obscuring most of his scar. What she would have seen of it anyway, since…

Well. He was also in full game face, his golden eyes absolutely, ferociously joyous, though that emotion was a little obscured for the moment as he watched her, slightly warily, where she stood in the doorway.

He was also, as far as she could tell, naked. And… thoroughly pleased with his situation.

Faced with this remarkable tableau, Buffy wasn’t sure whether to burst out laughing, or exclaim, ‘Okay, are you _kidding_ me?’

She settled instead on a rather understated, “Uh… please tell me this isn’t what you do every day while I’m gone, because if it is, I’d really rather not know about it.”

The faint wariness in his eyes vanished, to be replaced with absolute pleasure. Without a word, he sort of sank back down below the rim of his clothes-pile.

She supposed it wasn’t surprising that he didn’t respond, considering… what could he say in his defense? Rather, he didn’t respond in words. He did, though, issue one of his happy-sounding, purry growls, which was…

Well. It actually communicated a lot, since that was a sound she knew, familiarly. It was, specifically, the noise he tended to make when he was comfortably seated inside her body and making with the nibbles. Though she had never gotten around to asking, she was pretty sure it translated, more or less, to, “Mmm, yay! Mate!”

A nice greeting, to be sure, but she had to admit she was surprised that he didn’t seem at all embarrassed to be caught out doing… whatever the fuck it was that he seemed to be doing. “Happy to see you too, honey, but what the hell…”

His face reappeared, this time right-side up… but he still didn’t speak. He merely tilted his head at her, completely unself-conscious about his situation; and then, to her shock and amazement, he wholeheartedly _dove_ back into his pile of clothes.

And commenced to roll around in it like a puppy. Or maybe a kitten. 

Appropriate to which image… he was still purring. And… 

A pair of underwear described a high arc over him, and was deftly caught… and rolled over underneath the churning form. It was sort of like watching an alligator drown its prey; only with lingerie. Except he almost looked like he was batting at it? Could he actually be _playing_ with her undies? 

It was, she realized belatedly, a scene of pure joy, and was he _high?_

Buffy began to experience a strange emotion; one comprised of both irritation and amusement, all tangled together. “Okay, look. Don’t take this as shitting all over what is apparently a very fulfilling hobby or anything, but what the actual fuck is happening in here right now?”

Nothing. Except the purring. 

“Alright, dammit. Spike, you do know that it’s gonna be up to you to sniff-test all of that to get it un-mixed. Because you’ve got the dirty stuff and the clean stuff all tangled in together, and no way am I gonna be the one to sort it all out again because you decided to have a laundry party while I was gone.”

He rose slowly once more out of his messy sensory wonderland. Made the ‘mate’ nose again, and then a sort of questioning look. And Buffy started to get the memo. 

Frankly, she wondered along about then what had taken her so damn long. “Can’t you talk? I mean, in English?” And if he couldn’t, and something had happened, why hadn’t she _felt_ it?

Another noise, and a jerk of the chin at her. His eyes were heating up in a very recognizable way, sending warm tendrils of his sensation into her body. Which was predictable, you know, because of what he’d been doing, and it honestly didn’t take him much when she was in the same room with him… but it was also kind of less than useful. For one thing, she was definitely not on the same track at the moment, though it did answer at least one question. Whatever had happened to him had not at all affected their bonding. Which meant she should have felt... “Okay, hold up. You. Go sit on the bed.”

He made a disappointed noise, sighed, got all droopy-shouldered and whiny-looking, like he’d had his nose slapped with a newspaper… but he went. The massive reluctance with which he abandoned his disastrous clothes-nest was visible in every line of his body.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he watched her with that intensive focus of his, hopeful and loving and almost puppyishly eager… and one-hundred-percent demon. He had been neatly reft of his human faculties, though how, Buffy had no clue. “Do you know what did this?” she asked softly, and set down her stake atop the dresser to carefully move around the verges of the pile and join him. “A spell, or…” /And if there was, wouldn’t I have felt it hit you?/ There had been a brief burst of rage, earlier—which maybe explained the wrecked living spaces—but brief bursts of rage from her guy were not all that out of the ordinary, so she had dismissed it. After all, he could get pissed off at his lighter running empty. 

Then, this. Just a whole lot of overwhelming contentment and warm-fuzzies, so why should she have felt at all concerned? 

At her side, Spike made a dismissive sound; essentially a ‘don’t know, don’t care’, then, as she made to drop onto the mattress next to him, a wide, pleased grin, and he turned to her like a homing pigeon and sort of keeled over, face-first, to land with his nose in her cleavage.

Again, not helpful. “C’mon. Be serious.” And, because she was, apparently, new? she made the mistake of grabbing his hair to drag him out of her boobs. 

Predictably, his eyes kindled with demonic enthusiasm, because to him, right now, that was just an invitation, or maybe a reward. /Oh, jeez./ “Hold on there, turbo. We’re having a conversation.”

He whuffled excitedly, eyeing her from under his lashes, all golden intensity and smooth brow ridges and sexual calculation. None of which looked at all like him caring about the subject she was interested in exploring, much less helping her solve it. He was A-OK with staying like this, in his present state of mind. He just wanted to get her naked and play demon-games with her. 

With a sigh, Buffy gave him a hard shove. She knew how to communicate with this side of him, after all. 

He went sprawling backward, slid unceremoniously off the edge of the bed, landed once more on the floor. “No sex until we figure this out. Much as I love wild and crazy fun and games with you.” She waved a hand generally around the room without taking her eyes off the naked vampire now sitting on the rug, staring up at her looking all offended. “I mean, look at this mess. _Bad_ Spike!”

He made a mildly regretful noise; the kind that sounded like a trained recording. She knew the basic sentiment without need for words. He would simulate regret if that was what she wanted to hear, and if it got him what he wanted. To wit, access to her most succulent self.

He was so very much all demon right now. The dope. 

“You just stay right there for a second. I have to make a phone call. Then we’ll maybe revisit ways to pass the time… depending on how long you’re gonna be like this.”

He brightened, and shifted from ‘startled and leaning back on my hands’ to ‘casually sitting with one arm slung over my knees, like I meant to fall like this’, because he would play up any situation and be cool if it killed him, this guy.

“Hey, Wil,” Buffy broke in the second her friend answered the phone. No time for pleasantries. “I’ve got a situation here.”

Willow must have taken in her taut voice instantly, for she responded in kind. ‘What’s up, Buffy?’

“I came home and found myself in possession of a vampire who’s all demon, all the time, no human-side to be seen. He’s a cuddly sort, don’t get me wrong, but he’s kind of got a one-track mind, and we have a little language barrier…”

‘Wow. What… I mean… how…’

“I was kind of hoping you could help me figure that out. Maybe there was a spell, or… Like, _could_ a spell…” As she spoke, Buffy pinned her now-grinning vampire with a pointed glare to keep him where he was.

He tilted his head at her as if assessing the seriousness of her resolve. Drew in a deep breath of her scent, nostrils flaring, then let out a heavy, regretful sigh, and slumped back a little. Poor baby.

Willow pondered her question for a sec before answering. ‘I mean, maybe a spell could make his human side retreat that far, I guess; though, with Spike, considering how much his human side is all up front-y…’ A curious pause. ‘He’s _cuddly?_ Really?’

/Cuddly, and kind of adorable… and beautifully naked, and kind of primal…/

Something in her stance or scent or something must have altered, because Spike abruptly abandoned his ‘cool’ positioning to roll over onto hands and knees. He promptly commenced ‘Panther Crawl Number One’, very intently in her direction. Which was… unfair, because ‘Panther Crawl Number One’ _did_ things to her, and he knew it, the bastard.

Not to mention that since there was only about two feet of space between him and her legs… there wasn’t much time for conversational dilly-dally. If she was going to get to the bottom of this, she was going to have to ward him off with her feet or use a command or something. He was so in a _mood_. “That’s not the part that surprises me. He’s always been a pretty cuddly demon, when he’s not in the mood to fight. Cuddly,” she went on, and held him up with one foot planted on his naked chest, “and horny.” She caught her eyes on his, found herself getting lost in the deep, honey wells of them. He was watching her with that massive intensity of his that he always had when he was overwhelmed; when he had steeped himself in her and was all id, could think of nothing but being her enthusiastic devotee. 

Except, right now, that was exactly what he was. There was no thought, here; just ‘do’ and ‘be’. /And _feel_./ “Which is also to be expected,” Buffy heard herself continue, distantly, “since when I found him he was all inarticulate on the floor, playing around in a pile of laundry…”

A short silence from the other end of the line, then, ‘I’m still getting used to the concept of Spike being inarticulate.’

“I know, right?” Buffy shook her head and, taking pity on the now-pouting vamp kneeling at her feet, reached out and shoved her fingers into his hair, settling him with a rough, tugging caress. 

He set to purring again immediately, and, no shit, began nuzzling against her thigh like a cat being petted.

His eyes, as he looked up at her, were full of that familiar, wordless adoration, and hmm; what _would_ it be like to be with him like this? Unhindered; just the demon, without a single word? Not that she didn’t adore her verbose, snarky lover, but…

He butted her with his nose, nudging at her knee; then again, at the inside of her thigh. Only an inch higher, but his eyes were _glowing_ now, and…

Well…

“Actually, you know what, Wil? How about you call me back in about… an hour, and we’ll get back on this.”

‘Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me.’

“I just have… some research to do is the thing…” 

The side of his face dragged up the inside of her thigh now, and, /I’m gonna get bit so damn hard…/ 

His nostrils flared again; a long, slow, savoring draught. His eyes fluttered closed in ecstasy.

/Oh, the hell with it./ “I’ll call you back.”

She hit ‘end’. 

He made a pleased, satisfied sound into the crotch of her jeans, that managed at the same time to sound grateful. It vibrated her everything. 

Fuck it. “You know… for a guy who can’t talk right now,” she informed him as she stripped off her shirt, “you’re damned expressive.”

Who was she to talk? She’d had her moments in full-feral mode, and he’d always taken them in stride.

More than. He encouraged them.

Smiling her invitation, Buffy snapped her fingers at her demon, quirked an eyebrow at him. “Here kitty kitty.”

She laughed when he pounced.

**FIN**


End file.
